


Happy Together

by silentdescant



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He seems utterly convinced that Daisy will call, will change her mind, will love him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Together

**Author's Note:**

> I just watched The Great Gatsby for the first time and couldn't resist writing this. I haven't read the book yet, and I've obviously only seen the movie once, so I don't know how true to canon the characterizations are, but this was fun. Another daily writing exercise. Unbeta'd.

Nick can’t quite believe his ears when Gatsby asks him to stay and go for a swim. He’s heard the request before, of course, back when they’d first become acquainted, but now, for Gatsby to want his companionship, it means something completely different. He seems utterly convinced that Daisy will call, will change her mind, will love him again, but Nick, for once, feels like he’s the more worldly and experienced of the two of them.

Daisy will never call.

Nick knows that as sure as he feels the sun beating down on the back of his neck. Sweat prickles there, itchy under his collar, and he wants to say yes, wants to placate his friend and distract him for the eternity he dwells on the fact that Daisy is gone to him.

But at the same time, Nick wants to do Gatsby a favor and let him come to the realization on his own. Let him, if possible, accept it and move on.

Then Nick looks at Gatsby’s earnest face and sees the desperation hiding just underneath the surface. His heart softens and drips inside his chest, melting completely under the hot sun and Gatsby’s feverish eyes. He nods.

“I’ll have the phone brought down to the pool. We can wait there,” Gatsby says, relief in his voice.

“The pool will feel nice and cool in this weather,” Nick replies. “It will do us both good to get out of these stifling clothes.”

“Quite right, old sport, quite right.”

They parted ways at the pool and each went around one side. Nick followed Gatsby’s lead and unbuttoned his jacket and vest. When Gatsby stripped off the articles and threw them aside, Nick was too distracted to continue.

“Do you have a spare bathing…” Nick begins, but even his voice is stolen when Gatsby continues disrobing across the pool. Nick watches as he quickly unbuttons his shirt and throws it away as well, and he notices that Gatsby’s hands are quivering slightly as he begins unbuttoning his trousers.

His exposed skin is golden brown and smooth, which Nick knew from swimming with him before, with Daisy as well, but Gatsby strips completely and Nick is overwhelmed by the sight. He’s never seen such a breathtaking man so unclothed and so close, and he belatedly realizes he’s still stuck on the buttons of his own shirt, up at his collar.

“We’re both men,” Gatsby says in a low, distracted tone. “We’re just waiting, Mr. Carraway. We’ll dress again when Daisy calls.” He flashes Nick a brilliant, familiar smile, the smile that hides everything about him. “No need to waste time finding something to wear, old sport. Think of how sublime that water will feel on your skin.”

Nick comes to his senses and peels off his suit. He doesn’t have the same nonchalance as Gatsby, can’t just throw his clothes every which way, but he does let them fall haphazardly over a reclining beach chair. When he’s down to his underthings, he looks across the water at Gatsby and finds him smiling. The man looks settled, finally, and it strangely unsettles Nick. He’s sure that his friend is still worried about Daisy, anxiously expecting her call, but Nick can’t see evidence of that anxiety in his eyes any longer.

Gatsby, staring Nick right in the face, pushes his underwear down his hips and lets the expensive fabric puddle on the ground around his feet. He straightens and stands naked as can be under the bright morning sun, still smiling at Nick.

“Join me, won’t you, old sport?”

Nick follows his unspoken request and sheds his own underwear. He wants so badly to look down, see Gatsby in all his glory, but he’s having a hard time looking away from those arresting blue eyes.

Without another word, Gatsby dives into the pool. The splash startles Nick out of his trance and he turns his head to the left, looks out at the dock and, far beyond it and across the gorgeously smooth water, the Buchanan’s dock and their blinking green light. He spares a thought for what Daisy’s doing right now – not calling Gatsby, probably not even near a phone, maybe not even at home.

In front of him, Gatsby breaks the surface of the water with a gasp. He shakes his head, his hair slinging droplets of water every which way.

“You look like a king,” Gatsby says, looking up at Nick with bright, shining eyes and glistening, golden skin. Nick thinks Gatsby is the one that looks rich and fantastical. He says as much and gets a laugh and a head-shake in response. “No, no,” Gatsby says, “you know who I am now. You know me better than anybody, and you know I’m no king.”

Nick thinks about Daisy again, a queen in her castle, her fortress, with Tom, who no doubt considers himself the real king.

“Join me, old sport,” Gatsby coaxes. He swirls his arms in the water as he treads, kicking up a gentle ripple around him. It looks more than inviting, and Nick finds he can’t resist. He jumps in.

When he surfaces, he laughs loud and bright. “It feels amazing!” he cries, because it does. The water is cool and refreshing against his sweat-damp skin, and even the sun’s heavy rays aren’t stifling his body under the water.

“You’re a good friend, Nick,” Gatsby tells him quietly.

It’s clear what he means, at least to Nick. He’s realized, now, Nick’s purpose in staying, and he’s on his way to accepting it. Maybe he never will, verbally, but in his heart, the news that Daisy is forever unattainable is sinking in.

“Thank you for staying,” he says.

“It’s not a problem,” Nick replies. “It’s my pleasure. It’s… Please believe me when I say, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

He’s waiting for the questions, the inquiries about Daisy’s mindset, if Nick is absolutely sure she won’t call, maybe tomorrow, or maybe next week, but the questions don’t come. Instead, Gatsby turns over on his back and floats, gently paddling around with lazy motions of his hands and wrists. Nick once again follows his example. He has to close his eyes against the bright sun, but he finds it’s preferable that way anyway, just listening to the sound of his friend swimming beside him and not having to see any tortured emotions cross his face.

“You know Daisy better than I do,” Gatsby murmurs at long last. “You’ve known her for years.”

Nick refrains from responding that Gatsby knows her well too, because apparently he doesn’t, or perhaps she’s changed too much since Gatsby knew her. Besides, Gatsby is clearly following a train of thought and Nick doesn’t want to interrupt. He keeps quiet.

“You appreciate what I have, don’t you, old sport? You appreciate what I’ve done.”

“Of course I do.”

There’s a gentle sort of splash as Gatsby twists and turns and suddenly Nick feels him under the surface; he feels the currents of Gatsby moving close to him, and then he feels the slick slide of Gatsby’s skin against his own. They’re arm to arm, Nick thinks, or perhaps that’s Gatsby’s smoothly muscled chest.

Gatsby’s voice, when he speaks next, is low and furtive and he’s whispering directly into Nick’s ear. “I’d rather have someone who appreciates me, someone I can come to love, than someone who willfully leaves this all behind for nothing of any value.”

Nick is unfathomably thankful he decided to stay for a swim. He opens his eyes and turns to Gatsby, finds their faces close enough for their noses to touch. It’s as clear as day on Gatsby’s face that his unhealthy fixation on Daisy has only just barely dimmed, but Nick wants to believe him. He suspects this is how Gatsby succeeded in this world. He’s charming and gentlemanly and people want to believe his beautifully wrapped lies. Nick wants to believe the obvious lies and those that run under the surface, hidden from the spectators at parties and the corrupt business associates.

Nick’s hand finds Gatsby’s shoulder and Gatsby doesn’t flinch. He’s staring into Nick’s eyes, and he must know what’s coming, he must have suspected or even planned this, manipulated it into fruition, because there’s no surprise on his face when Nick leans in and closes the distance between them, pressing their lips together in a pool water-cool kiss. His lips are soft under Nick’s, practiced at kissing, practiced at seducing, and Nick sinks into him.

They clutch each other under the water, and Nick pushes thoughts of Daisy to the furthest reaches of his mind. He hopes Gatsby’s doing the same, though he’s sure it’s much harder for him. They can’t speak of her, not without breaking this spell over them, and not without revealing once and for all the painful truth that she’s not loyal enough, not worth Gatsby’s continued misery as he waits for her. Nick hopes Gatsby knows all of this, because he can’t bear to say it aloud.

“Jay,” he whispers when they part. “I appreciate all of this, all you’ve done. Take care of me in this big ol’ house instead.”

There’s a flash of turbulence in Gatsby’s eyes, but Nick sees him shove it down. After a moment, he smiles and spreads his arms wide, causing more ripples around them in the pool. “Welcome home, old sport,” he says. “This was built to be enjoyed, so enjoy it.”

 

_fin_.


End file.
